


Change In The Weather

by fengirl88



Series: The Old Bad Songs and other stories [3]
Category: Maurice (1987), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover Pairing, E.M. Forster - Freeform, Kissbingo, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-03
Updated: 2010-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-13 12:26:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fengirl88/pseuds/fengirl88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade wonders who in their right mind would want to spend a weekend in the country with their lover's ex-boyfriend.</p><p>What to look for in August: bad weather, guns, and outdoor pursuits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Change In The Weather

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the square "location: in the rain" on my kissbingo card.
> 
> This Lestrade and this Maurice first meet in The Old Bad Songs. It was kopoushka's idea to bring them together in the first place.

“Think we might go for a walk this afternoon, if that's all right with you,” Maurice says as they're sitting over their coffee.

“My dear chap, of course,” Durham says. “Whatever you prefer.”

Just as well, Lestrade thinks. He still doesn’t know why he let Maurice talk him into this visit in the first place, and he’s not sure _what_ he might be driven to if he had to spend the whole fucking afternoon out shooting with Durham and his cronies.

He still thinks of him as Durham. He’s _not_ going to call him by the new title (typical of this bloody Government that they’d make someone like that a Lord). And he’s _certainly_ not going to call him _Clive_. They're not friends, and they're not going to be.

As far as Lestrade’s concerned that man there is still the wanker who broke Maurice’s heart at Cambridge. Not to mention the hypocritical closet case who’d lied to Lestrade and Donovan when Maurice was being blackmailed, and given Lestrade a _Know your place, my man_ look which took him right back to his time in service, before he joined the Force. Lestrade may be a guest at Durham’s table now, and this big house is not that big house, but both men know where the class lines are drawn and which side of them they're on, no point pretending otherwise.

Maurice glances anxiously at him and Lestrade softens a bit. Takes someone as dozy as Maurice not to realize that this was never going to work. Lestrade wonders who in their right mind would want to spend a weekend in the country with their lover's ex-boyfriend. Fuck knows what Durham even thought he was doing inviting them both in the first place.

“Too much paperwork this week,” Lestrade says. “I could do with some exercise.”

Hadn’t meant to make Maurice blush. It’s quite nice when he does, though.

Durham either doesn’t notice or pretends not to. He starts giving orders about the shoot to anyone within bossing distance.

“Come on,” Lestrade says to Maurice under his breath, “let’s get out of here while the going’s good.”

Nice to be out of the house, even though the weather’s hot and sticky. August’s been weird this year; bloody cold for ten days, and now this.

“Going to be a storm,” Lestrade says, looking at the sky. “Clear the air a bit, with any luck.”

“Let’s hope so,” Maurice says. His hand brushes against the base of Lestrade’s spine, as if accidentally.

“Not in front of the servants, _my dear chap_ ,” Lestrade says.

“Are you going to go on about that all weekend?” Maurice asks.

He looks crestfallen, obviously thinks he’s made a bollocks of things between them by asking Lestrade to come with him.

“I’ll stop in a minute,” Lestrade says. “Sorry. It’s just - bloody Durham always rubs me up the wrong way.”

“I know,” Maurice says.

His hand brushes against Lestrade’s back again, more deliberately this time. Lestrade’s cock twitches.

“You, on the other hand...” Lestrade says.

“Mm,” Maurice says. “Where?”

 _Anywhere you like_ , Lestrade thinks. _Everywhere_.

The sound of guns announces that the afternoon’s entertainment is just starting, and Lestrade would _really_ like to get away from all that. More to the point, he’d really like to find a quiet spot and shag Maurice’s brains out.

“Why the fuck is there never even a bloody _spinney_ when you need one?” Lestrade says, glaring at Durham’s much too open grounds.

At which point the thunderstorm kicks off, right on cue.

It’s that kind of crazy rain you get sometimes in summer, so hard and so fast you’re drenched before you know what’s hit you, clothes soaked through and clinging to the skin. So wet that you start laughing because it’s actually ridiculous, because you can’t get any wetter than this, because you’re already completely sopping and the rain just goes on coming down.

The sensible thing would be to go back to the house and change. But they’re way past being sensible.

“If I’m going to drown right here you could at least kiss me,” Lestrade says.

Maurice doesn’t need telling twice.

The kiss is mixed with rainwater, running down their faces, not cold but still a contrast to the heat of Maurice’s mouth and his tongue. Lestrade’s hands slip and slide over Maurice’s back, pulling him closer as Maurice groans and pushes his hands through Lestrade’s dripping hair.

“Christ, I want to fuck you,” Lestrade says. “There must be _somewhere_ -”

“Over there,” Maurice says, pointing.

It’s further away than it looks. Bigger, too, of course. Not locked, thank God. Full of junk, mostly, but at least there’s somewhere to lie down.

“If this isn’t the first time you’ve had sex in a punt I don’t want to know about it,” Lestrade warns.

“It’s definitely the first time I’ve had sex in a _boathouse_ ,” Maurice says, pulling Lestrade down on top of him.

 

Lestrade is floating, lazily adrift, feeling the currents of pleasure wash him this way and that. He can’t remember why he was so fed up earlier; sign of a _very_ good shag.

Maurice’s breathing is almost back to normal; always takes him a bit longer to recover. Lestrade teases him sometimes that he needs to get more exercise. Maurice says that’s _exactly_ what he wants. Which is why he was blushing over coffee.

 _Durham_. Lestrade shifts slightly, remembering now. Maurice tightens his grasp, sensing the change.

“You do know you mean more to me than he ever did, don’t you?” Maurice says.

Lestrade feels like all the breath’s been knocked out of him with a sort of _whoosh_ , like being swept up into the air. The only way to get his breath back seems to be to steal Maurice’s, and he does, kissing him again and again as if his life depends on it.

The guns have stopped, or Lestrade can’t hear them any more. Inside the boathouse there’s no sound but the blood drumming in his ears, his breathing and Maurice’s all mixed up together, and the summer rain on the roof.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to rusty_armour, whose "parody post-ep" sent me back to the boathouse for this one.
> 
> http://rusty-armour.livejournal.com/74775.html#cutid1


End file.
